Starving
by mirenne
Summary: Sequel to The Lion. The compound has worn off, leaving Mick starved and half crazed with bloodlust. Beth waits for him at his apartment, unaware of what's happened. For months, she's been treating him like a dark Prince Charming, but about the Beast?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Moonlight belongs to CBS, Joel Silver and many other talented people who are not me.**

**This story is the continuation of "The Lion." in which Mick reverts to vampirism and finds himself starved and desperate for blood. It was originally meant to be a oneshot and is capable of standing alone, so I've separated the rest of the story here. "Two Steps Back" has been removed from the and placed here in its larger context. So if you hit a part you think you've read before, you're right. Forgive me. This is my first multipart story, and the overall plan changed radically from how it was originally planned.**

**Please, please read and review. It keeps the ideas flowing!**

Chapter 1: Killing Time

_All vampires lose their table manners from time to time. You know, drop their napkin, take too big a bite, leave the dishes for someone else to wash. If they didn't, I wouldn't have a job. And thankfully- or unfortunately, depending on which side of the food chain you inhabit- it happens often enough that my services are in high demand._

_Vampires are predators, hunters masquerading in a bovine world. It's only natural that once in a while a vamp will cast off the disguise and revert to type. Pretending to be something you're not gets old when your life span is measured in centuries. _

_As for myself, I neither condone nor condemn. I simply deal with the consequences so that we can all continue living. If humans were ever to realize their true placement on the food pyramid…Well, suffice it to say, they outnumber us by about six billion or so._

_Most of my kind don't waste too much time on the niceties of remorse. Oh, there might be some brief scenes of handwringing, some embarrassment at being caught out. But it's all a cover. Good hunts stay with you. They satisfy. They replay themselves in your dreams. Tide you over until the next time you realize that you can't tolerate one more moment of pretending to be less than what you are._

_Of course, every rule is proven by its exception. For every ninety-nine meat eaters at a party, there's bound to be one vegetarian who screws up the menu._

_Hence my problem tonight._

The Cleaner was stalling. She had been since she'd bundled Mick into her car. She'd paced the scene and double checked the crew's work, passing down a few last instructions and covering issues that her second could have handled just as well.

She told herself she was simply being careful. In these days of CSIs and luminal, one could never be too thorough. In reality, she was waiting for the phone to ring. A 911 to Josef always got a response, sooner rather than later given the nature of her profession.

_Let's see. A Friday night, 9pm…If I were Josef, where would I be? _She leaned a leather clad hip against her car and crossed her arms, a sarcastic smile growing across her features. She knew exactly where he was. In the middle of his harem. Doing whatever it was that men with harems did. _One of those little bimbos had better pass him the phone._ Her smile widened, taking on a harder edge. For some reason whenever she was with Josef, the girls all scattered from her presence, like mice running from a cat. A glance at the caller ID should send one of them scurrying.

She and Josef had enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship for the last fifty years or so. Josef was a player in their world, a broker of power, wealth and information. He was a force for balance, the paranoid protector of the status quo- a position she supported. As he always said, you hadn't really lived until you'd been chased by an angry, stake wielding mob. As for what she could offer? That was easy. Sooner or later every vampire in the area had need of her assistance, and skeletons in the closet all had stories to tell. Maintaining the confidentiality of her clientele was an issue, but not all of the information she possessed fell under the seal of the confessional. And when it did? Well, she and Josef were masters of the 'hypothetical' conversation.

The subject of Mick had come up from time to time. In truth, she found him more than slightly fascinating, and she rather thought Josef approved. At the very least, he'd never stopped feeding her information on his best friend. If Mick ever got his act together, stopped denying his nature and actually started _liking_ himself…they might be well matched. Of course, considering Mick's lifestyle over the last two and a half decades, those were fairly big 'ifs.' Still, stranger things had happened. Josef had mentioned recently that Mick was courting a freshie. That was a good sign. Probably.

Possibly.

She peered over her shoulder and into the Crossfire's passenger seat. Nope. No movement. She could see him, shoulders slumped, head in his hands, dazed. For the moment at least. She knew it wouldn't last. _Dammit Josef. Get a move on_.

About a month ago she'd told Mick that he didn't need a reason to call her. Not that she was trying to beat out a human for dibs or anything.

Mick hadn't taken her up on her offer until tonight. And tonight was most certainly business.

She felt her cell vibrate from a deep pocket. _Finally._ A quick look at the screen told her that she was done waiting. She thumbed the connection, jumped right in: "Good evening Josef….Well get unbusy. In fact, clear your whole damned schedule. Mick went feral tonight, and I'm standing on the edge of a very ugly scene.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Steps Back**

**Disclaimer: Moonlight is the property of CBS, Joel Silver and lots of talented people who aren't me. **

**This chapter runs concurrent to the first and starts about two hours after Mick jumps off his balcony. **

**There are also references to "The Long Game," which touches on Mick's frame of mind after he becomes human.**

**Please, please read and review!**

Beth slapped her palm against Mick's door again, harder this time, unwilling to accept that he wasn't inside, her voice climbing shrilly into the upper registers of disbelief. "Mick?!"

Silence answered her.

She made a noise of deep frustration, formed a fist and went at it again, just for good measure. The door still didn't open, and she began to feel like an idiot. Bashing her knuckles against reinforced steel was not going to get her inside. She stopped and shook out her battered hand.

His car was _here_! She'd _parked_ next to him for God's sake!

She flicked her hands up on either side of her head, fingers splayed out in clawing anger. _He stood me up! He actually stood me up! _She felt one side of her neck kink with tension, and her jaw canted up.

Her eyes strayed to the hall ceiling, and she spotted his camera. Great. Perfect. Just perfect. She'd been on film for the past fifteen minutes. He'd see it all. Her arrival. The first polite knocks and playful calls through the door. Then the silent leaning on the far wall, the pacing in a small circle. The unfruitful wireless calls throughout. And finally, finally, the banging and yelling, just to be sure. (He did have two stories after all.)

_Hope he feels bad. _Her lips tightened in a firm, satisfied line and she stared upwards, sending every bit of her disappointment (oh, she was disappointed in him! For shame!) flowing into the lens. She held it just long enough to ensure her point was made, and tromped down the hall, heels clacking toward the elevator, curls jouncing around her shoulders.

One newly, painstakingly manicured finger jabbed at the faintly glowing "Down" button, then mashed it twice again just to be sure.

_Fine. I'll go to the gallery on my own._ A friend from college had finally started to gain traction on the L.A. scene, and Beth had been looking forward to celebrating with her. Being a mid twenty something was finally starting not to suck career wise. She'd invited Mick to go with her a week ago, and they'd confirmed their arrangements around noon.

_He couldn't have just...forgotten. It's not like I called him while he was sleeping or anything. _

No sooner had the thought been born, than she paused, anger fading just a teensy bit as she softened towards him- in memory at least. Humanity had brought with it certain changes in the rules. New rule #1? When it was daylight, Mick was outside. It seemed as if he felt compelled to spend every waking sunlit moment out and about, reveling in the light and the heat, partaking in previously forbidden activities. More and more often, the long jacket was being left in the car, and the raccoon eyes that he'd gotten at the cemetery had quickly given way to a more even tan. Once, as he was bringing her back to her apartment after breakfast, he'd spotted an impromptu football game in the neighborhood park. He'd gotten that wild, boyishly crazy grin on his face. One longing look at her was enough. "Go! Go!" she'd cried. And he had, parking the car, throwing open the door and stripping off his coat, seemingly all in one movement. He'd taken to the field, and for once, he didn't have to worry. The sun couldn't hurt him and his skills were his and his alone, human and fallible.

His team had gotten their butts handed to them, though not through any fault of his. The corner of her lip quirked up in the devilish, self satisfied smirk of a woman who's…male friend… really is all that.

She heard a ding and the elevator gaped open in front of her at last. She stepped in…

…and stepped right back out before the door closed. Now that she'd simmered down and remembered that Mick's time was short, getting her panties in a twist no longer seemed so productive. _He can't have gone far, right? After all, his car's still here. It's not like he went over the balcony or anything. And it's not likely that he's out there saving the world… Probably. _In fact, since he'd taken Coraline's compound, Mick hadn't worked at all. He'd closed out what cases he'd had and hung a virtual 'Closed, On Vacation' sign over his business. So while there was a slim chance he'd been called to duty, the likelihood was…Well, considering how their messed up lives had been since they met each other, the odds were probably better than fair...but still…

_Nah. He's probably just around the corner somewhere and got caught up. It's not like he can just jet back anymore._ She looked at her watch, willing to give him a little more time. Beth walked back to his door and hunkered down in front of it, kneeling on the cold marble with her back against the polished steel door.

_This is becoming familiar_

She stared up at the camera again in recrimination, with a martyr's look of longsuffering woe, and raised her hands, pointing at herself as if to say, 'See me? I came back for you. Don't you feel awful for making me wait? Do you have the slightest idea of how BIG an apology you owe me?" Beth's hand snaked down into her purse, coming out with her cell phone. She hit redial and waggled her finger between the camera's lens and the phone a few times, silently miming, 'See, I'm calling you.'

After ten lengthy unsatisfactory rings, Mick's voice picked up and the call forwarded to voicemail. Again. She snapped her cell shut and formed her fingers into a chute, intending to drop it into her purse, and then stopped. If a call wasn't getting his attention, she'd text him, just to cover the bases. She typed quickly: 'At your apt. Where are you?' There. Direct and unemotional. She was proud of herself. Let him read whatever level of threat he might into those words and prepare.

She refused to be worried about him.

Beth gave up and sat down on the floor, keeping the cell in her hand for easy access. Ah well. These pants weren't all that special. They'd brush off. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander.

Mick had been human for nearly a month now, and she'd been privileged to accompany him through it, watching him relearn scent and sound and reflex and a hundred other subtleties of mortal living. Every subtraction from his abilities, every realization of sweet humanity was another addition to his soul. Nothing in the human experience disappointed him. His eyes were less guarded. His smiles and quips came quicker and quicker, until one day she realized something she should always have known, that he'd been trying to tell everyone for decades: Mick St. John needed to be alive.

Perhaps Coraline had seen it too, and that's why she'd murdered him.

The past month hadn't been all fun and games, of course. Both of them knew it had to end, that this was just a taste of mortality and not a return to it. He had worries. Anxieties about what would happen after he turned again. He'd gotten lost in them during his second week as a mortal and she hadn't seen much of him. Then he seemed to get control of himself, commit to the moment once more, and they'd turned a blind eye to the future, content to simply enjoy the now. And yes, as much as she could, she'd put aside her griefs too. Her love of Josh, her guilt over his death and all the little ways she'd betrayed him before it. The ring stayed on her finger, a silent signal that Mick respected and understood.

Beth's ears pricked up. The elevator gears were working…and they weren't stopping. She stood quickly, brushing off her pants. She set her hand on her purse strap and smiled, unable to perpetuate her anger now that he was coming home. The gears and pulleys did their work, and the car stopped on the penthouse floor, opening smoothly.

A man walked out, clean lined and dapper, pausing blankly for a moment, taking stock. He recovered immediately, his face crinkling in its usual sardonic half smile. "Beth, fancy meeting you here!" _Ah, lovely. So now I'm responsible for saving Mick's love life too. Let's see…I've got what…five minutes to remove her before they arrive?_

"Josef?" Beth's lips were stretched in the semblance of a smile, her eyes round and wide with seeming pleasure that hid near frantic thought. _Oh God. Mick never told him he'd been cured. How do I get rid of him?_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Starving

Mick felt strangely disconnected from his surroundings. Like he was viewing the world through a fish eyed lens. Everything was out of proportion, too tall or too wide and slightly out of focus. The sensation had gotten worse when the Cleaner settled into the driver's seat, whipped the Crossfire out of the storage facility parking lot and started the slow crawl through the busy downtown intersections. Somewhere around Figueroa and the Chinese Theater, he remembered her saying that she was taking him to his apartment.

Good.

Shortly thereafter they exited to the freeway and gained speed. That's when the ride home became nearly unbearable.

The light assaulted him from every direction at once, slicing through the windows to stab at him where he sat. It rolled across the dashboard in patterns and lines, reflecting off the mirrors with the sun's brightness. It flashed at him from buildings and signs that drew his attention and were gone in an instant, leaving him dizzy and glazed. All the colors merged together in contrails that painted themselves across his retinas, multiplying there and casting back reflections that splotched and blinded.

Mick blinked hard, once, twice, then again, vainly attempting to clear his vision. The light refused to be sorted, and the sounds of traffic pierced his ears. Bass lines and brake squeals and human voices cut through his thoughts, scattering them. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, like he was holding on to sanity by his fingertips. Even the car was fighting him, the engine's vibrations thrumming through the steel frame, through the plastic and leather and into his bones, setting his teeth on edge.

Some part of him understood that these were symptoms of shock. That his senses were extended to hyper acuity and that the normal filters were turned off. He closed his eyes, pressed his hands over the bridge of his nose and focused inward, willing himself to find some measure of stillness before he started screaming.

A small sound wuffed out of him, somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. **Now** he was exerting control? Too late, too late! Panic, sharp and intense roiled in his gut, clawing upwards. His lungs were burning, his heart racing. He was awash in adrenaline, amped up on testosterone- his own and his victim's. But the fight was gone out of him and only the impulse for flight remained.

Mick wanted to go home. He wanted to enter his apartment and close the door forever, be bounded within the four walls of the prison he knew so well. To submerge himself in reaction to the one inexcusable, inescapable fact of this night. The only fact that mattered. _I killed. _The thought repeated itself over and over again, a broken record that wouldn't stop. There was no escape. No forgiveness. No possibility of return. Time had come and gone and could not be recalled. The choices he'd made, the impulses to which he'd given way were his and his alone. He bore the responsibility, and it would color all of his interactions going forward. Tonight, the monster within him had won.

And he was still so **hungry**.

Anxiety seized him. His lungs felt pressed, as if the air that surrounded him lacked oxygen and he couldn't catch a breath. He scrabbled for the window rocker, searching for the control in this unfamiliar vehicle. Finally he found it and cool air rushed in a sixty miles per hour, hitting him full in the face. Mick breathed it in slowly, each inhalation long and controlled. He fought the urge to breathe faster, shallower, and realized that he must have been on the verge of hyperventilation.

Somewhere in the middle of his concentration, he felt like he was being watched. There was a car passing to the right, just pulling alongside. He looked across…and saw her, staring from the back seat, her window open to the night air. She was delicate and small boned, a young woman of twenty or so vamped out in leather and lace, hair sleeked back in a high ponytail, lips outlined in black liner and filled in with blood red. A goth out for the evening. The light which had been tormenting him illuminated too many details for her: the blood dried in lines down his chin, smeared over his cheeks, the pallor of his face, the tangles in his hair. All of it together making him look like…what he was. He felt her, scented the emotions that reached out to fill the space between them despite the metal and movement. Shock. Disbelief. Fear. A gloved hand came up and she hid her face, involuntarily rejecting the unnaturalness of him. He saw the long line of her neck, unblemished and pale. Soft. The blood called to him, pulsing through intricate webs of veins and arteries that outlined themselves, inviting him on. His body pressed forward hungrily against the door.

Claws flickered at the edge of his vision, hitting with the strength of an oncoming truck. His jaw struck the windowsill and bone cracked, splintering apart. His head rebounded, was caught and jammed downward into the dash. Pain made his eyes go red, then white. Blood filled his mouth. He roared in anger, coming up fighting. Or trying to.

"Enough, Mick! Get a grip!" The Cleaner's hand pinned him, refusing to let him up despite the struggle. Her foot hit the accelerator and the Crossfire jumped, streaking away from the goth girl and her friends. She grabbed a hank of his hair and, with the force of centuries, bashed his forehead off the plastic one last time. As he impacted, she heard the plastic creak and winced. _Damn it, I just bought this car._ He placed both fists on the dash and pushed back against her hand, growling. The tatters of her patience fell away and she roared her own rage at his behavior. "God damn it! _**I said enough!**_"

She sank her nails into his scalp, lacerating the skin in long stinging swatches. His blood dripped from her fingers, warm and sticky. Something clicked within the recesses of his mind, and his shoulders slumped. As she felt the fight leave him, the Cleaner tentatively let go. Thankfully, he stayed down, his head pressed against the dash. She knew he was trying to process his need for the girl. To press it down, retract the fangs and rejoin the land of the housebroken. H_e would have gone right through the window. What in the hell?_ Unfortunately, she knew what it was: blood lust. The kind felt by the newly turned and by rogues. When everyone looked tasty and anyone was on the menu. _Problem is he's not a newbie anymore. This shouldn't be happening. Especially not to him._

The Cleaner wanted answers. Transport and counseling weren't normally part of her purview, but Mick was one of the good guys for God's sake. Something somewhere had gone terribly wrong.

"Sorry." The word was so soft and cracked it barely registered above the noise of the road and the engine. He cleared the gravel out of his throat and drew breath, searching for words. Nothing seemed adequate, so he settled for another shamed apology. "Sorry." Mick had raised his head, flipped the tangles out of his eyes and was pressing his hand to a particularly wicked cut, holding it closed, waiting for it to heal. The violence had cleared his head, brought his surroundings and situation into focus. He was dangerous to himself and to others. Forgetting that fact, even for an instant…well, look at what he'd almost done. Again.

Her response was clipped, sour. "Don't mention it." He could see her eyes tracking to the mess of blood and hair congealing on the dashboard. Self conscious, he wiped at it with his coat sleeve, smearing it further, working it into the grain.

Deep lines appeared on either side of her mouth. "There are hand wipes in the glove compartment. Use them. Please."

Mick stretched out his legs as far as he could, cramming them under the console. He scooched back into his seat, giving himself room to open the glove box. Nostalgia wasn't the only reason he drove a classic car.

If she wasn't so monumentally pissed, if it wasn't her brand new car he'd come close to trashing, his contortions might have been amusing. She watched him pull out the wipes and set to work, noticed that his hand was tremoring ever so slightly, a continual motion independent of his will. _That's not good._

The Cleaner reached into her coat pocket, pulling out her cell, finally able to acknowledge the incoming text alert that had dinged while Mick was going predator on her. As expected, it was from Josef. "In Mick's PL, where are you?" She thumbed a quick response: '10-20 minutes away.' _Thank goodness._ She'd take Mick home, leave him in Josef's expert care and head back out. Mick needed a friend tonight. And despite the fact that she'd always felt kindly disposed toward him, they barely knew each other.

She glanced over at her passenger. Assigning Mick a task had the desired effect of focusing him on the external. She could already see the efficiency returning to his movements, could nearly hear him starting to work through the events of the evening in his mind. She didn't care if he was quiet. In circumstances like these, she'd found that too many words only complicated matters. Nothing she could say would make a difference unless he was ready to hear it, and professional experience told her that the appropriate time certainly wasn't now. Mick would have to deal with tonight's events on his own terms. Despite her curiosity, she could find out the whys from Josef tomorrow.

She flipped open the ashtray for him, took a deep breath and settled down more comfortably in her seat, one hand on the wheel, the other on the transmission.

Then she heard the low growl beside her.

Mick had balled up the used hand wipes and was sniffing at the blood, drawing it in across his palate like a starving man. His eyes were jaundiced, that ugly color that indicated sickness. Or, more specifically in this case, blood loss.

All of a sudden the revelation hit her. The why. The Crossfire's motor stuttered for a moment, slowing as her foot slid off the gas. "Mick. You **starved** yourself?" It wasn't possible. Vampires didn't starve, couldn't starve. Instinct always took over regardless of intellect- which was exactly what had motivated Mick earlier tonight.

Mick caught himself, recognized what he'd been doing and froze. He'd never been so far gone before, and it scared him. 'No." His voice sounded confused again, weak. "I worried, but…I didn't think it would be so bad."

The Cleaner whistled through her teeth. The question now was: why had he done it?

Mick scrubbed his hands through his hairline. Dried blood flaked off, falling in a small shower of particles. "When I came out of it, the bottled wasn't enough. The blood was dead."

"And then instinct took over." _Came out of what? _

He nodded morosely, plucking out a couple more wipes to dab at his face and throwing the container back into the glove box. He was in trouble. Real trouble. His mind flashed back nearly sixty years, to the moment when Coraline found him, frantic and starved and newly turned, hiding behind a taxi. He'd looked at the woman she'd brought him, bound and gagged for his convenience, and all he could see was the blood in her veins. He'd known it was wrong, that reaching for her would signal the end of life as he'd known it, but he'd fallen on her anyway, stretching her neck and slicing open the carotid like a butcher draining a carcass.

"Mick, this won't stop." _Not tonight, and maybe not anytime soon. _The Cleaner did a quick estimate of how much blood he might need to regain equilibrium. There were roughly nine to ten pints in a human body. The man in the alley had been mostly drained, which meant Mick was roughly eight pints up. Newbies and rogues generally needed to make at least one kill a night, sometimes as many as three. Bottled didn't satisfy them either.

She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, came to a quick decision and sighed. "There's a duffel in the back seat. Bring it forward and open it." _He needs it more than I do. Dammit._

Mick turned round, an awkward maneuver considering the seat was already as far back as it could go and his knees were still jammed against the glove box. His questing fingers felt silky polyester and he hauled up the bag. As soon as he touched the zipper, his nose caught the scent of blood. On some level, he must have known it was there previously. Its presence in the car had been tipping him over the edge for the last half an hour. The gnawing hunger nearly took over, but he forced himself to open the duffel slowly, exposing four small pint bags lying against a cooling block. A small whine, half frustration, half need, escaped him. More dead blood.

"Shut up and drink it before I change my mind."

The Cleaner's posture was oddly tense, and Mick was suddenly mindful of all that she'd done for him. "Thank you." A curt dip of her chin was the only response.

Mick hefted the fluid weight of a bag, clipped off the edge of the I.V. line and raised the hose to his lips. The first spurt hit squarely in the center of his tongue and slid along, coating the inside of his mouth, bringing with it the first sense of the donor's identity. _Male. Fifty. Maybe sixty. Healthy. _He swallowed slowly, eyes closing in pleasure and took another draw on the bag, nearly emptying it. Emotion came with the blood this time and he paused, confused. He tried to separate the sensations, rolling the mouthful like a wine taster seeking the flavor notes in a new vintage.

And then it hit him. This donor had given willingly. _A freshie?_ No, that wasn't quite right. More than a freshie. A lover. Mick caught the mental image of a man, still vital and strong, gifted with one of those handsome laughing faces that held onto youth regardless of age. He'd prepared the instruments carefully, made himself comfortable in a soft leather recliner, inserted the needle into a vein, and thought of her, only of her, with love, with passion. The man's voice whispered a name along Mick's consciousness, and he repeated it without thinking. "Miranda."

Mick raised his hand slowly to his mouth, covering it. He swallowed, trying to wash away the taste of the blood with saliva. Some things were not meant to be shared. He found that he couldn't look at her. The Cleaner. Miranda.

"Who is he?"

He heard her draw breath, then pause and clear her throat before starting again. "His name is Colin. He lives here in L.A." The blood allowed Mick could hear the unspoken in her voice: _He's the reason I've stayed in one place for so long._

Beth had asked him once if vampires and humans could have sex. He'd told her that it wasn't impossible. Inadvisable, but not impossible. Well, here was one aspect of the possible stowed in a duffel and draped across his knees.

Colin was offering Miranda an act of love. He'd collected his blood, a pint every week, leeching himself dangerously low. It was a risk, but worth it. Blood only lasted a month and a half, maybe two before it spoiled, so he'd needed to be quick. As he'd watched the bags fill, he'd thought of her, poured out his emotions, triggered all the chemical reactions in his body so that she'd taste just how much he loved her. How much he wanted her. When she drank, he'd intended the sheer force of emotion to carry her away, to fill her with his life. Then when her hunger was sated, when the predator in her was quiet and asleep and she had no fear of losing control and causing him harm, they could…well. Suffice it to say, they could.

He started to tie off the bag, intending to replace it where it belonged.

"Keep drinking, Mick."

He shook his head in vehement denial. "I'll be fine."

Her strong hand came to rest over his, stopping him. "Wait. Do you have any blood at home?"

He remembered the torn plastic bags strewn around his kitchen. "No."

"Your freshie then, is she a pint up or a pint down?" Not that a pint was going to do him any real good.

Mick rolled his eyes, instantly annoyed, as always, by the assumption. "Her name is Beth, and she's not a freshie." In one quick, definitive motion, he replaced the pint, zipped up the duffel and dropped it into in the back seat.

The Cleaner sighed shortly in frustration, snaking a hand back behind her, searching to retrieve it. "That couldn't possibly have been enough. You can't afford to be noble about this." Her eyes took on a pleading look, willing him to accept her sincerity. "You need it more than I do."

"Honestly, I'm fine. It was enough to get me home. I'll call Josef when I get there."

She settled back behind the steering wheel, tugging on her coat to adjust it properly, a knowing smile breaking across her face. "Actually, he'll be waiting for you."

A barking laugh escaped him, humorless and disbelieving. "What…An undead suicide watch?"

"Nah. Chain of custody. Whatever happens after you leave my car is his fault, not mine."

"Ah." So she didn't trust him. That was fine. Right now, he didn't trust himself.

Mick pulled his thoughts back from the bleak place they were headed. With Colin's blood coursing warmly through his veins, he found he wanted Miranda's company. Maybe too much. He took a deep steadying breath, shifted his knees and his body infinitesimally toward the passenger door, away from her. Dear God, he'd never had an experience like this.

She saw him and laughed openly, a full throaty sound that sent a chill through him. "Amazing, isn't he?"

Mick could only agree.

"We've been together for a long time."

How ironic. Before tonight, Mick would have been overjoyed to learn of a successful mortal-vampire union. "You never wanted to turn him?"

"Of course I did, but it was his decision to make, not mine. We talked about it for nearly a decade. But when the choice came down to either living into the future, or sending a generation into the future, he realized that he'd rather have children." She flashed Mick a wistful sideways smile. "Immortality doesn't always mean forever."

"So when you suggested that I call you sometime…"

Her shoulder came up in a delicate shrug. "I meant it. Colin has a family. Once a year he tells the wife he's going to a fishing cabin up in the mountains and I meet him there. I was actually on my way when you called."

Mick rubbed a hand over his face, chagrinned. "Sounds like most of my cases."

"I'll bet. It would look like them too, if you took pictures." She turned the corner onto his street. "So what about your Beth?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she'd ignored the signs, ignored her own rules and said exactly the wrong thing. The line of his shoulders tightened, and she could literally feel him pulling back inside himself. Crap. Was Beth the reason he'd starved himself?

She made the last turn into his parking lot, brought the car to a stop and turned to him, placing a hand on his arm. He looked so vulnerable, so lost. Old and young all at the same time. Her heart went out to him. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. Just remember, if you need anything, anything at all, call me. I'd like to help."

Mick continued to look out the front window, drew in a long breath and nodded.

She leaned forward, enveloping him in a tight hug. "You're one of the good ones, okay? "

He disagreed, but wasn't about to argue the point with a…friend…who had done so much for him already tonight. Mick dropped a small kiss on her temple. "Thank you. For everything."

She released him, studying him for a moment, examining his grisly appearance and the worry lines etched into his face. He was stronger than he had been when she'd found him on the scene. More stable too. Colin's blood had restored a measure of control to him. She'd done what she could. "You're welcome." She leaned over and levered open his door. "Go on now. Josef's waiting for you."

He shook his head, another small grin lighting his features. "Yes Ma'am." He closed the car door, tapped the glass twice in farewell and began the walk home with her eyes on his back.

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**Please, please read and respond!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: There are a 3-4 instances of language in this chapter. Nothing nothing worse than a PG13 movie.**

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Chapter 4: The Merry Little Minuet 

Beth's ears pricked up. The elevator gears were working…and they weren't stopping. She stood quickly, brushing off her pants and arranging the fall of her coat. She set her hand on her purse strap and smiled, unable to perpetuate her anger now that Mick was coming home. The gears and pulleys did their work, and the car stopped on the penthouse floor, opening smoothly.

A man walked out, clean lined and dapper and not Mick at all. He paused blankly for a moment to take stock, then recovered immediately, his face crinkling in its usual sardonic half smile. "Beth, fancy meeting you here!" _Ah, lovely. So now I'm responsible for saving Mick's love life too. Let's see…I've got what…five minutes to remove her before they arrive?_

"Josef?" Beth's lips were stretched in the semblance of a smile, her eyes round and wide with seeming pleasure that hid near frantic thought. _Oh God. Mick never told him about the compound. How do I get rid of him?_

For a long moment, both of them were silent, their lips frozen into position, welcoming and yet strained in that awkward way of acquaintances who are not yet accustomed to meeting without a mutual friend. Beth swung into action first, marching down the hall to meet him halfway. "What a pleasant surprise! I hadn't expected to see you again so soon." The moment the words left her mouth she winced internally, knowing they would be taken at more than face value and that she'd touched on a sore point. Mick had restricted his contact with Josef since he'd become human, keeping him at arm's length with brief phone calls once or twice a week.

She covered her mistake with an inane little laugh, the kind that typified nervous insincerity. _Way to go, Beth. Let's make it clear to the four hundred year old, international securities trading vampire who just so happens to be Mick's best friend that you're __**not**__ happy to see him._ Because she was sure he hadn't missed the hesitation, the disappointment or the concern embedded in her overall demeanor.

Indeed, he hadn't. Moreover, Josef was also acutely aware of his own personal dilemma in this little melodrama. To put it in simple terms, Beth was his best friend's girl, and it behooved him to be polite to her, particularly in light of the fact that she might be around for a while. Centuries perhaps. Unfortunately, she was also a nosey, pushy, in your face tabloid reporter who had never learned that discretion was the better part of valor. He would have to be careful. If he pushed the wrong buttons, she'd entrench herself and refuse to budge...In a matter of moments, his strategy was formed. _Let's see how Beth liked hanging around in this hallway._

Ever the gentleman, Josef stepped forward, hands outstretched to take hers, his manner vaguely contrite. "I take it you were expecting Mick?" He raised her fingers to his lips in a courtly gesture. "Well, wherever you two were intending to go, you look lovely. Truly lovely." Josef was a connoisseur of beautiful things, women in particular, and Beth was always a vision. Tonight she had chosen a casual outfit with classic lines: black slacks that fit her perfectly in all the right places, and a square necked cotton twinset in dusky mauve that belted loosely at the waist.

A twinge of heat inflamed her cheeks as she released his hands and stepped back. "Why thank you. And yes, Mick and I are headed out tonight. A friend of mine is being featured in a gallery opening." Beth made a show of checking her watch. "Actually, we're already running late." _Take the hint. You don't want to slow us down._

"You kids have been keeping each other busy, haven't you?" As she watched in dismay, Josef took up residence against the wall, shoes crossed one over the other, hands clasped politely in front of him. Clearly, he was making himself comfortable. _Damn._

Beth focused on the content of his words, rather than on the quick thoughts running behind her eyes, and this time when she smiled the emotions expressed in it were genuine and glowing. "Yeah. It's been nice. In fact, it's been wonderful."

Josef nodded his approval. "Mick's a good man." He drew in a long breath, and his expression suddenly became tentative, hesitant. "Remember that and promise me you won't be angry with him."

"Angry? Whatever for?"

"Because he double booked for tonight."

"Excuse me?" The evening's frustration returned to her in a rush. She'd wasted an hour waiting in this cold, stupid hallway, and Mick had other plans?

Josef held up his hands, forestalling her reaction, his words flowing out in a rush. "I'm sure he didn't remember! He agreed to reserve the date three months ago. Some friends of ours came in from Chicago today, and I'm having a dinner for them. Mick's supposed to help me entertain." Josef noted the increasing fire in her eyes and the tense line of her body with no small measure of glee. Removing her would be easier than he'd thought.

Beth could only imagine what a vampire's version of 'dinner' might be. She did, however, realize that she wasn't going to be invited to find out. Chances were the guests might think **she** was on the menu. Trouble was, in his present state, Mick might be too. Irritated as she was with him, she had no intention of throwing him to the wolves. Though she certainly intended take her own bite later. "Well, that poses a problem. Because tonight is important to me too, and it's a one time event. Amanda's probably already wondering where the hell we are. " She raised her left shoulder in a small pleading shrug, the skin around her eyes and mouth tightening with little stress lines. "Perhaps he could send his apologies tonight and spend time with them tomorrow?"

Josef shook his head ruefully. "They're leaving for Australia in the morning. Relocating for the next ten years or so." A long fingered hand mimicked the flight of a plane. "Vampires usually can't stay in one place for too long."

Beth discovered she was twisting the leather of her purse strap, stretching it between her hands, deforming it. "Josef, I'm sorry. Mick called not ten minutes ago, and he didn't mention any friends. Maybe you should have called earlier to remind him?"

Josef raised a brow. Spunky little thing, wasn't she? Certainly not afraid to take the fight to him. Of course, she obviously wasn't above lying either. He knew full well Mick hadn't called. Josef reconstructed the facts. Clearly, Mick and Beth had had plans to go to the opening together. Then he'd gone feral, leaving Beth to wait in the hall. Honestly, she didn't realize how lucky she was that Josef had come sauntering out of the elevator and not Mick. Still, there was something else…He didn't know her well, but her scent was too nervous, her heartbeat too rapid. Beth was hiding something. And Mick had been avoiding him for too long. Josef was certain that she wasn't aware of Mick's transgressions tonight- she'd scarcely be so composed- but he'd be willing to bet she had information to share about the events leading up to Mick's breakdown.

"He called? How strange. I've been trying to raise him on the phone all night."

"Yes, he did." Josef noticed that, while her words said one thing, her head was infinitesimally shaking a 'no', and her eyelids blinked several times reflexively, another nervous tell. Josef pushed off from the wall and took a short stroll up the hall and past Mick's door, letting her stew, creating a lull in the conversation at a point where she was aware that she was lying and might wonder if he knew it too. In business you learned that silence could sometimes be the most powerful weapon. Then something out of the ordinary caught his attention.

A few moments later, Josef realized that Beth had been speaking. "Hmm? I'm sorry; you lost me for a second." Josef had caught the scent of blood through the door. He rubbed his nose with the side of his hand, using the cover to inhale more deeply. _Male. Female. All ages. _His nose wrinkled in earnest. It had to be that God awful bagged stuff from the morgue. How Mick could drink it…Josef paused. Given the circumstances of tonight, Mick **hadn't** drunk it. The blood wasn't in the freezer. Chances were that Mick had tasted it, found it unappetizing and discarded the bags in digust. Interesting. His friend's inner vampire was indeed coming to the fore. _That might be fun._ Of course the odds of Mick wallowing in guilt and remorse were much higher than the odds of Mick suddenly signing up for full membership in the tribe. Josef sighed and refocused his attention on the problem at hand.

Said problem seemed annoyed. Good, that was two of them.

"I was saying that I have a suggestion." Beth felt her lips turn up in a viciously triumphant smile. "Why don't you let him accompany me to the gallery for the next two hours, and then I'll send him along to you for the rest of the evening. After all, it's still early morning for you, right?" _This was the best she could do. Get rid of Josef for the moment, and allow Mick to call him later and make his own apologies. _

Josef inhaled deeply. She'd come up with a reasonable solution. How unfortunate. He'd have to switch tactics. Miranda's text message had said ten to twenty minutes, nearly half of which had passed already. Personally, he didn't think she'd be able to make across the city in such a short time. The downtown club and restaurant traffic on Friday nights was a nightmare. Twenty to thirty minutes was more realistic, even with her speed demon ways. Still, there was a limit to how long he could dawdle in conversation.

Josef decided to appeal to Beth's softer side. After all, she was a woman. Some modicum of compassion must be lurking in that tenacious black pit she called a soul. Somewhere. He squared his shoulders and rolled his head awkwardly, flicking his eyes to the right a few times, refusing to look directly at her, as if he were working himself up to a confession- which, in a way, he was. Lastly, he cleared his throat several times, the ultimate masculine sign of communicative discomfort.

"You're right. Mick will be here any second, and we need to work this out." Josef coughed slightly. "Look…I know this isn't fair to you. Believe me when I say that I'm sorry for ruining your night." He paused, noting that she had shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, leaning forward to compensate for the quiet sincerity of his tone. "Yes, there are visitors in town, but they're an excuse. I really need to speak with Mick. There are some…personal issues that have come up. And I need my best bud to help me work them out. You've had him for a month. Can't I have him for an evening?"

Josef knew it was a good performance. He could see the empathy in her eyes, the openness of her stance.

Beth, meanwhile, felt like a wretch. Josef was wearing his heart on his sleeve, confiding in her, and she was compelled to rebuff him. Talk about getting off on the wrong foot, especially after he'd guided her with information on Coraline. She wrapped her arms around herself and regarded her toes. "I can't."

Josef sighed deeply in disappointment. "Ah. Of course. I understand." He figured he'd let her simmer slowly in her own guilt for another minute and then try it again.

Both of them leaned a shoulder to the wall, one on each side of the hallway. They'd claimed their real estate, and neither one of them was leaving. An uncomfortable silence descended as they reassessed their strategies.

Beth was half ready to simply allow Mick walk in and face this issue head on. His mishandling of a friend had now become her interpersonal problem, and Josef was right, it wasn't fair.

Then it hit her. Something that Josef had said finally percolated through and activated her reporter's instincts. If Mick hadn't answered Josef's calls, why was he here? And why was he so insistent on having Mick to himself? All of a sudden things fell into place. Josef was here, not because he needed a friend, but because Mick did. Josef was worried.

Beth made her living chasing leads and stories, and she'd be willing to swear that something was happening here. Something vampiric. And Josef wanted Beth out of the way so that he could pursue it. All at once, everything Josef had said tonight came under scrutiny and more than a little of it stank. Perhaps Mick had been right all along, and Josef couldn't be trusted with information on the compound. Maybe he already knew. Regardless, Mick was in trouble. She could feel it.

While she was putting the puzzle together, Josef was deconstructing his approach. He'd tried this the polite way. The honorable way, God help him. And where had it gotten him? Pressed up against the wall like a kid in time out with all the nice choices removed from him. Beth was a royal pain in the ass, and he was done.

As soon as he made the decision, Josef felt liberated. The gloves were coming off. His lips pulled up in a malicious smirk. He so hated it when mortals forced him to pretend to be something he wasn't.

"So. Tell me." Josef commanded. Beth glanced at him and froze, sensing a distinct change in tone and bearing. He was regarding her with the singular intensity of a cat, one who had been searching for the right place and moment to pounce.

The game was over. Or perhaps it was just beginning in earnest.

She feigned irritation- not a real stretch in this case. "What? Tell you that it's late and Mick's not coming?" She checked her watch. Time must be running out. "Maybe we should both go home. We've been stood up."

"No, no. Tell me what it is that's making the blood rise in your face. You're flushed, you know. Quite rosy in the cheeks." Josef offered her a merry smile. "It's a look I've always appreciated in blondes." He suddenly turned speculative, leaning in her direction to mimic confidentiality. "You are a real blonde, aren't you? Mick's not accidently fallen for another bloodthirsty brunette?"

Beth felt her face go red. _Condescending, sexist… _If he'd noticed 'rosy' before… She deliberately took his words in the worst possible context, staring down her nose at him like a cheerleader being approached by a geek on prom night. At least he'd handed her an excuse for being flustered. "Stop it. You're being crude."

"And, not to put too fine a point on it, you're lying." He waggled his fingers at her. "Though not about being blonde."

"What would I have to lie about?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking." Josef peered at her quizzically. "I thought you would have figured that out by now." He tipped his head back in a gesture reminiscent of Mick and sniffed the air delicately. "I can smell the hormones in your blood. The adrenaline. Fight or flight has such a distinctive odor." He paused, listening. "Is that your heart I hear? It's beating quite rapidly." He clapped his hands together, a rhythmic beat that exactly matched the rhythm of her heart. As soon as she realized it, his hands began to move more quickly. Josef smiled at her discomfiture, a long plastic stretching of the lips that held no humor, only superior knowledge. Centuries of it. The attributes of youth, the pink health of his lips, the supple movements of his body- they were the real lie. An image flashed into her mind of Josef, dressed in a Renaissance costume of rich brocades and furs, making the same smile at her through a court of dancing nobility. There. That was the truth.

Another image presented itself in her mind's eye: Mick in cabana wear, guitar held close. And another: Mick, in a GI's kit, hat canted across his forehead and a cigarette between his teeth. That was truth too. The adamant intensity with which she'd intended to defend Mick's secret began to crumble, and small but significant cracks emerged. Mick and Josef were vampires. **Vampires.** Josef was taunting her, showing her that the world was not quite as she knew it, reminding her that being human was not an advantage. Beth had to admit that Mick did the same, though generally with more kindness.

Josef snapped his fingers, demanding her attention, even though she'd been looking straight at him. The moments she'd spent lost in thought had cost her, and Josef was a master at recognizing and exploiting the smallest missteps.

Beth acknowledged internally that she might have met her match, but she was made of sterner stuff than he credited her for. Mick would have recognized the look that appeared on her face, the aggressive stance and line of her body as the reporter in her, the fact seeker, emerged to question the suspect in front of her. Mick could have told Josef to watch out. "You first."

"Moi?" Josef raised a hand dramatically to his chest. "I don't believe my credibility has come into question tonight, whereas you have indeed just admitted to withholding information."

She stood her ground. "Maybe. But you are too."

"As a matter of fact, I came here tonight because Mick and I had made a previous engagement, just like I told you before."

Beth didn't believe it for a second, and now it was her turn to smile with sticky sweet venom. "You know, Josef, I may not have a vampire's superior senses, but I can still smell crap from a mile away. You came here for a reason, but you didn't expect to find me here. And until I leave, you're not about to open that door and go inside to do whatever it is. You've been fencing with me, but we both know that Mick's on his wa…"

Beth jumped back with a little yell. From one moment to the next he'd shifted, appearing right in front of her. She found herself caught, her forearms clasped in his hands. His skin tone had taken on a whitish tinge, and his nails dug painfully into her skin.

Playtime was over. Despite herself, Beth couldn't help but feel that this wasn't entirely fair. She'd had more ammunition left to lob at him.

Josef leered down at her, a cut appearing on his lips, splitting them as she watched in horrified fascination. Mick didn't look like that…did he? "Alright, my dear. Suppose that you're right. Suppose that I am _eagerly_ awaiting your departure." He let go of her and in the blink of an eye he'd stepped back six or seven feet, tilting his head and shoulders to rest them against the wall, his face slanted at a predatory, animalistic angle that frightened her. He pointed a long nailed finger at the elevator. "Why don't you just give me what I want?"

And just like that, Beth knew she'd won. "Because I care about him, and you're worried sick."

Josef huffed slightly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his features had returned to normal, and he looked at her with a newfound respect. He inclined his head to her in defeat, noting with gratitude that she accepted with equal gravity. Good. Any show of triumph on her part, any salt in the wound, and he might have felt it necessary to revert back to the claws and fangs approach. Josef hated to lose.

Still, she had made her point. Short of bodily harm, Beth would not be removed. Mick wouldn't thank him for including her in the circle of information, but, so long as Beth was gone by the time he arrived, it was nothing he needed to know tonight. Maybe she was a good enough actress that he'd never know. Then again, maybe she'd head for the hills. Regardless of the future, Josef was painfully aware that Mick wouldn't be stable enough to deal with her in the here and now.

Trust Mick to glom on to the most willful women.

He reached into his pants pocket, retrieved the security control and pressed the button with a flourish. "Open sesame." Lights came on inside and the door lock clicked. Josef pushed the heavy steel and wood inward, gesturing her ahead of him. He stripped off his coat, hanging it over a convenient sculpture while she began her inspection.

At first, nothing seemed to be amiss. Everything was in place…mostly. Several books were open and flattened in the 'library.' One of the armchairs in the living room was turned around, like Mick had risen from it too quickly and upset its positioning. Then Beth smelled it, and for a strange instant, she thought she understood what a vampire must scent. There was blood in the kitchen. The coppery tang intensified once she'd identified it, and she blew out, trying to clear her nose.

Josef was standing just outside the kitchen area, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the damage. The hidden freezer was open, the door literally ripped from its sliding track and thrown down onto the counter. But that was minimal compared to the rest. It was as if Mick had repainted his walls and tile in blood. Red was everywhere, in puddles and droplets and smears. Some of it had even splashed the ceiling. Most of it was half congealed rather than fully dry, which indicated to Josef that Mick had been gone for a few hours. Two or three, probably not more.

At least a dozen bags were strewn around the kitchen, approximately double the number Mick normally had on hand. He must have been anticipating a problem. The destructive desperation of it all saddened Josef. He rubbed a hand over his hair in helpless frustration. If only he'd known Mick was in trouble. _Sorry, bud._

Beth had come around the sink island to join him. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she took in the full extent of the scene. There were no good interpretations to be made. "My God, Josef." She turned to him, pleading, her eyes wide.

"Mick's alive. But he's not well." Joseph placed a hand on her shoulder, turned her to face him directly, bringing her closer. Her eyes flitted across his features, seeking intent, and he knew the rough handling of a few moments ago had not been forgotten. Oops. "I came to help, but I've barely heard from him in a month." _A month he spent with you._

All the spark went out of her as she caught the implication, and she was silent, which confirmed what he'd already known. She was party to what had happened here, and she felt some responsability for it. All she needed was a little nudge. "Talk to me, Beth."

Her hands came up to cover her face, a classic blocking gesture, and he felt her body shiver. Her voice was fragile, nearly a whisper. "Mick…he killed someone tonight, didn't he?" Her eyes locked on his, willing him to deny it.

He couldn't. Josef watched the knowledge hit her with a physical intensity. She curled into herself, bending at the waist, arms wrapped around her torso, her hair streaming downward, almost touching the floor. Suddenly, in his mind's eye, it wasn't Beth who stood in front of him mourning, but Sarah. His beautiful, innocent Sarah, who'd thought she understood the entirety of what he was, who had mentally accepted the concept of drinking blood to sustain life, but who had never been forced to bear witness to its most irrevocable conclusion. During the short year he'd been with her, Josef had altered his habits and been a good little vampire, buying his blood from the blood bank or a supplier of bottled freshie vintages. Sarah had brought out the best in him, and being with her had satisfied other needs, soul deep hungers that he'd never chosen to acknowledge, not in three hundred and fifty years of life.

Josef had dealt in disposable women for so long, he'd forgotten- chosen to forget, except when he was by Sarah's bedside- that there was something real called love, and that it was a rare and precious commodity. He realized all at once that there wasn't one individual who needed his assistance tonight. There were two. Two who together might someday form one.

All at once, the foolish sentimentality of his thoughts repulsed him, and he cut them off sharply. _Wonderful._ There were moments when Josef hated being the older, responsible one. What did he, the eternal playboy, know about maintaining healthy personal relationships?

He sighed. _Plenty. Though I try to avoid them at all costs._ Josef felt himself close away Sarah's memory in its own segregated mental compartment, banishing it with self deprecating, self centered humor.

Meanwhile, there was the small matter of a weeping woman and a soon to be returning friend.

Josef watched her for a moment, gauging the available time left to him. Considering what he knew of her, the straight forward approach was best. "Beth."

She glanced up at the sound of her name, and caught the urgency in the set of his mouth, the brightness of his eyes. While she might fall to pieces later, now was not the time. The first responder mentality that served her so well in her reporting solidified within her now, a core of strength that sought facts first and denied emotion until later. After all, why was she weeping? Mick was alive. In an undead sort of way. She looked upwards with an ironic little purse to her lips, scrubbing her hands across her eyelids. That was the problem, wasn't it? Beth stomped a foot, took a deep shuddering breath, released it slowly. "So. What do we do now?"

"Talk to me." Josef was waiting with laser like intensity; he'd had to make the request one too many times. He settled his hip on the back of the couch, waiting.

She nodded. Her hands came up before her and she rubbed them together in a washing motion, searching for the right words. Mick had been reluctant to tell Josef about the compound. Actually, reluctant was too mild a word, though afraid was perhaps too strong. He'd simply avoided the subject, preferring to communicate with Josef by phone, using his relationship with her as a shield. She decided to start at the beginning. "I know you didn't believe it, but Morgan Vincent really was Coraline."

He made a sharp motion, cutting her off. "I know. After you showed me the picture of Mick you'd found at her apartment, I had my people look into her background story. It was good, I'll give her that, but I recognized one of the contact numbers. It belongs to a mutual old friend."

"An old friend?"

Josef smiled. "Think Lincoln old. I mentioned that we met in New York. Well apparently we've maintained some of the same friendships back East."

The corners of Beth's lips quirked up. "So when I called New York and spoke to her father…"

"Mhhm. Vamps cover for each other all the time. I'm Mick's cousin, by the way, if you ever need his family references." Josef waved his hand expansively. "He was a good kid, a pain in the ass, but…" He winked at her. "But we digress."

She swallowed her laughter and continued. "Coraline was human. Really human. She ate food, went out in the sunlight. Everything. It wasn't a trick."

He snorted. "Of course it was. Coraline is a master of deceit. Every other move she makes is to cover up for something else she's done. Puhlease. She came here for Mick, but not before she found a way to dangle his deepest desire right in front of his nose. Because that was the only way she could be sure he'd leave you and go trotting back to her. My guys found photos of you and Mick together at her old house in the hills. She'd been stalking him for months, and then you entered the picture- literally. Coraline figured her time was running out." His cheek muscles twitched. "I don't know yet how she hid it, but she _was_ a vampire. I have pictures from the day she was taken to prove it." Josef didn't like it when useful information was kept from him.

"No, Josef, for a time she was human. Coraline had a compound. Some old herbal concoction that was used during the French Revolution to save vampires from the guillotine." Beth stopped for a moment. Talk about revisionist history. She couldn't believe what she'd just said.

But clearly Josef did. He was standing at attention now, his head tipped to the side, held at that scary predatory angle that she instinctively feared. "What did you say?"

Beth backed up a step, nearly slipping as her heel crossed over from carpet to tile, coming down on the edge of a puddle of blood. Maybe Mick had been right about not telling Josef? Still, in for the penny… "Coraline had a lab here in LA. She was working with at least two other vampires to replicate the compound and make its effects permanent."

"And did she?" His voice was a hiss.

"No on both counts. Lance killed her scientist and took her away before she could finish the research." Beth forbore to mention that Mick had salvaged the lab, saving all of the notes and unfinished tests and preserving them in a storage unit downtown.

"But not before she gave Mick a supply of the compound?"

Beth shook her head. "A one time sample, not a supply. Josef, Mick's been human for the last month."

The twitch was back, roving across his features, touching the corner of his eye, the center of his lip, settling somewhere below his right cheekbone. "This is so wrong on so many different levels, that I can't even begin to explain it." He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "And, truthfully, we don't have the time."

Beth sensed the brush off coming. "Wait. I brought you up to speed; it's your turn now. What's happening with Mick?"

Josef smiled grimly, spitting out a name. "Coraline. Coraline's what always happens to Mick. She gave him a gift and then disappeared without leaving the owner's manual." Josef tone became acidic. "What has Mick been eating for the last month, Beth? More importantly, since he's now a vampire, what hasn't he been eating?"

He could see her pulling back into herself, as she recognized the depth of the problem. "Blood."

"Exactly." Josef shook his head in disgust. "Look at the mess in the kitchen. Mick was afraid of reverting back and losing control. Needing to kill. So he stocked up on bagged, hoping to stave off the bloodlust…But it didn't work." Josef speared her with his eyes. "You've wondered what it's like to be turned, right? To feel what we feel?" Her cheeks colored, sending a secret thrill through him. She needed to stop doing that.

"At first, all you want to do is drink. Vampires eat constantly when they're newly made. We're like babies who need a feeding every two hours, except bottled just won't do. It's missing something. Hormone content. Intellect. Emotion. Warmth." Josef shook his head again. "Mick needs to replace his life's essence, just like he did when he was a newbie. Miranda's right. He's gone feral." He shrugged. "The good thing is that he should get over it eventually. The downside, of course, is that he's already got a body count."

Beth refused to imagine it going any higher. "But you can help him."

Josef nodded curtly. "If he'll let me. I've got access to better supplies. And there are people who willingly allow blood to be taken."

"Freshies?"

Josef nodded again.

Beth took a deep breath and put herself out among them. "I'd be willing to…donate…for him. He fed from me once. In the desert."

"No. Absolutely not." Josef's tone allowed for no other possibility. "You're not going anywhere near him until I tell you he's clear."

Beth dug in again. She would **not** be shunted aside, not when Mick was fighting for his life. "Now wait just a minute…"

Josef cut her off. "He'll kill you."

The mere thought of Mick causing her harm was ridiculous. "Of course he won't. I don't care what you say; this is Mick St. John we're talking about. If he didn't hurt me in the desert, he won't…"

Again, Josef was before her as his vampire self, imposing and frightening and strong. He opened his mouth, exposing his fangs, and his breath fell across her face, tinged with the iron harshness of old blood.

"You undervalue your appeal, my dear. Mick wouldn't be able to stop himself." Josef's eyes closed sensually as he took in her scent, tasting her on the roof of his mouth. "You're delicious." He stretched out the word, savoring it. "Ryder wanted you. Lola did too, I'm sure." He leaned in, and she could feel his breath touch her ear. Beth was frozen. Somewhere, deep inside, she was screaming, but the sounds wouldn't come. "I wouldn't mind a nibble. You're nearly irresistible."

Josef held her close for a long moment, then pushed her away, breaking the spell, sending her stumbling backwards. "We all want you, but **we** don't love you. There's no emotional connection. You're **food**." He spat out the word. "A gourmet meal, rather than fast food, and something to be appreciated, but we'll need another you tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. Forever."

Josef's eyes were hard, mocking. "Do you have any idea how much control Mick is forced to exert when he's around you? Don't underestimate vampire hunger, my dear. And don't overestimate him. Not tonight, and not for a while. Most of the time, Mick pretends to be human. Or as close as he can get. That's fine. We all need something to get us out of the freezer in the morning. Or evening, as it were. But tonight he's all vampire. It's right there, right under his skin inside of him, and he can't control it. He'd have you in his arms and bent back before you even knew he was in the room." Josef flipped his hand nonchalantly. "He'd feel bad, afterwards. He'd might even buy himself a one way ticket into the desert and stand naked on a hilltop at noon." His eyes focused on hers. "But you'd still be dead."

Beth was shaking, a deep tremor that originated inside her chest and ended at her fingertips. Her eyes fluttered around the room, and Josef was suddenly worried that he'd gone too far. He didn't need the damned girl falling down; he just needed her to listen. Understanding might just save her life.

"Beth, react at home. You need to leave. Let us take care of our own. And when we have, you'll get him back.

She nodded, still dazed. Mick wouldn't. Not really. Surely not. Right?

Josef sighed and crossed the entryway, grabbing his coat from the sculpture on which he'd hung it. He reached into a deep interior pocket and pulled out two monogrammed silver flasks. The size and heft were rather substantial. He'd understood that Mick wouldn't want a freshie on hand, but that didn't stop Josef from bringing the good stuff with him. He walked slowly over to Beth, careful not to startle her further.

"Beth, one warning. If Mick comes anywhere near your apartment tonight, don't let him in." Josef's face was inches from her own again, his body way too far into her personal space, demanding her attention and her compliance. "Don't trust him." He pressed one of the silver flasks into her hand, closed her fingers over it gently. "And if he gets in anyway, open this and hand it to him. Fast. Because he's only coming for one thing." His eyes bore into her, impressing the need and the danger. A worry line appeared on her forehead and she nodded, a tight little movement born in fear. Josef held her gaze as he stepped back and away, confident now that she understood severity of the situation. Finally.

"They'll be here any minute. Go home, Beth. Stay home."

She nodded again, willing at last to concede the battle. Mick…her Mick, the kind and protective one… had killed tonight. And Josef clearly believed he might do it again. She walked over to the coffee table, every line of her body pulled taut. She scooped up her coat, set her purse over her shoulder, then pivoted back to Josef, pointing at him, her eyes intense and shining with tears. "I'll expect you to call. Tonight. Please Josef. I need to know if..." She waved her hand helplessly. "I'll need to know if..." _If he's going to make it. If I'll ever be able to get near him again._

Josef inclined his head, acknowledging her claim on Mick. "I promise. You'll hear from me tonight or tomorrow morning. As soon as he's gone to sleep."

She nodded one last time, stared at the door for a long moment, and then moved her body to it with a stressed, frightened half glance in his direction. As she stepped through into the hallway, she heard Josef's voice floating out to her. "He'll be fine, Beth. Mick's a survivor."

She said nothing, merely shut the door and once again found herself closed out in Mick's hallway, exactly where she had begun the evening. She was still waiting, and somehow she thought she might be for a long while. Beth pressed back tears and shrugged into her coat, clomped back down to the elevator, her steps heavy and slow. She pressed the button, only once this time, and heard the gears start to grind. The car arrived, as slowly as ever, and she stepped in, hitting the big "PL" at the bottom of the panel. The doors closed on her, and she slumped against the side wall, all her energy sapped away. She was out of it now. Whatever happened, she'd have no influence, no control.

Then again, really, had she ever? Or had she been fooling herself? Regardless of the answer, if she had ever had any input on Mick's decision making, it was clearly gone. Josef had made a simple thing clear: she was human, Mick was a vampire.

And tonight there could be no intersection between the two.

* * *

Josef shook himself all over, releasing the tension with athletic movements of feet and limbs. He rubbed his hands through his hair briskly a few times, feeling the last of the confrontation slip away, and then straightened his shirt sleeves. 

"Well. That was…informative."

So. Mick had been moonlighting as a human for the past month and hadn't seen fit to inform his best friend. Josef could understand why. Sort of. There were implications here for vampire society. Big ones that went way beyond the needs of one mortal loving vampire. Josef's mind was already roving over the possibilities- and the negatives.

If word of the compound became general knowledge, both of them would be smack in the center of a storm unlike anything the vampire world had ever known.

His lips curled in a humorless smile. Trust Coraline to bring such lovely gifts. Thank God Lance had dragged her sorry ass back across the Atlantic before things here had gone spiraling out of control. Of course, now he had to make sure Mick didn't set off on some wild goose chase after her. Friends didn't let friends get killed chasing after hussies, especially if they were ex-wives.

That's why Josef appreciated Beth. Secretly, anyway. She was a good distraction. A safe alternative. It was time Mick grew up and traded in the psychotic, destructive relationship of his youth for a more suitable mature relationship. Even if she was human. And who knew, if things went well and Mick started to like himself, started to see himself though Beth's eyes, maybe she wouldn't be mortal for too much longer.

She wanted to come across. He could see it on her. A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. God knew she liked the blood and gore well enough already.

Speaking of which…

He turned his attention to the kitchen. More specifically to the mess splattered all over the kitchen walls, counters and floor. He glanced around him, absently looking for help that wouldn't come. (Dependency was a bad habit, he knew. But this was _work.)_ He found a cloth and started dabbing with minimal effect at the largest puddle, when his cell chimed at him.

He slid it out of his pocket, thumbed to 'text', and read: "_We're here. He's on his way up."_

Josef dropped the rag and _moved._ He was out the door and to the elevator almost faster than thought, jamming at the button over and over, helplessly. He could hear the cables working, lowering the car with Beth inside.

_Shit._

* * *

The doors opened and she stepped out of the elevator and onto the big concrete lot underneath Mick's building. Beth reached for her purse as she started walking, rooting around blindly for her keys. Her fingers shifted through and came up empty. Damn it. She really needed to own a smaller bag. _But then there's never enough room…_ She slung the purse forward, pulled it open and started searching in earnest. 

She would have missed him, but for the noise. A small intake of breath, the tiny scuff of a heel as he came to a sudden stop.

Beth looked up and her blue eyes widened in shock, in pain for him. Her hand flew cover to her mouth, and the purse dropped to the concrete with a thud.

"Oh, Mick…" Her voice was a whisper, the barest sound.

He looked ghastly. Otherworldly in the monstrous sense of the word. A thin veneer of flaking blood coated his skin, ran in stiff swathes down his clothing. She could see where he'd attempted to wipe it away, but somehow, it only made things worse, exposed the white skin that seemed drawn too tightly over his features. As if he was dehydrated. As if he was dead.

Mick's eyes turned wide and pale in reaction, sinking deeper into his skull. His features coarsened and his lips split and bled. He took a step toward her…

…And she stepped back, her eyes huge, arms extended between them, warding him away.

Something cracked within him. She knew. She saw. And she was rejecting him.

Beth realized it too. Her human instincts identified him as a threat, a danger. She closed her eyes for a moment.

And he was gone. Fleeing in an instant, faster than her eye could follow. She heard a shout; Josef emerging from the elevator. A low growl lingered by her ear and a breeze fluttered her coat as he brushed by her in full on pursuit.

Beth sank to her knees, hands splayed out in front of her, holding her upright. Her breath tore from her in ugly, heaving sobs. How had this happened? What had she done? Movement caught her eye again and she looked up, toward a pale blue sports car, where a red haired woman in black leather was sitting, half in, half out, regarding her with a mixture of sadness and disgust.

* * *

**Please, please take a moment to review!**


	5. Chapter 5

No warnings. Well, one bad word. That's all.

Author's Note: I know I'd been promising to end the story in 6 parts. whistles and rolls her eyes to the ceiling How about seven? Also, this chap is about as angsty introspective as this story is going to get. Beth had some realizations to make before she sees Mick again. As everyone knows being honest with oneself can be the toughest truth of all.

Part 6 exists in rough draft form and should be out in a couple of days.

* * *

Chapter 5: Disintegration and Renewal

Beth stood on Mick's balcony alone, waiting for Josef to return, keeping her vigil with a strained and manufactured patience. She'd been staring blindly out over the rooftops of the city for nearly an hour, praying that Josef would be able to catch Mick and bring him back.

After he'd fled- after she'd chased him away- Beth had collapsed to the concrete, weeping inconsolably. How could she? How could she have done it? The weight of her betrayal had borne down hard, and she'd swayed under the crushing pressure of it, bending double with her hands scratching against the pavement. Her face had been wet, and her hands and neck. The suede coat sleeve that she'd been passing in front of her eyes was moist and ruined, and still she couldn't stop crying.

For twenty two years, he'd been her guardian angel. The tall strong presence hiding in the background who ensured safety and happiness. But all his watchful care of her, all the experiences they'd shared and the emotions that connected them, none of it had mattered. In the fraction of an instant, faster than conscious thought, she'd rebuffed him. Informed him, instinctively and absolutely that they were **not** of the same kind.

She hadn't meant to. And she was terribly afraid that she might never get the opportunity to say so. In the split second before he'd run she'd seen the impact of her rejection. Watched something precious strangle and fade. A hope of refuge, of solace and perhaps somewhat more.

The red haired woman, who'd told Beth her name was Miranda, had no patience with her tears. Beth didn't know this new vampire – what else could she be?- and, frankly, she'd been too far gone for the niceties. She hadn't been able to ignore her though. Miranda had grabbed her arm, physically levering her off the parking lot floor with deceptive ease. Beth might have struggled, but the woman pointed out with icy brutality that Mick would be expecting a better reception than the one he'd already received.

That's when Beth had started to pull herself together. For Mick's sake. She'd dried her cheeks, arranged her clothing and tried to bring weak and shaken muscles back under her active control. She found herself composing an apology, reaching for phrases that, while inadequate, might convey the excoriating contempt in which she currently held herself. As she waited she scanned the lot, looking for any movement or sign.

Then, after the minutes began to lengthen uncomfortably, when it had become evident that neither of the men were forthcoming, Miranda had sighed, shaken her head and chivvied Beth back into the elevator and up to the penthouse. Beth hadn't offered the slightest protest. The longer Mick was gone the more distant, the less connected, she felt. If she couldn't cry, well then, she couldn't feel much of anything. And so she became a spectator, aware of the scene around her but disassociated from it. Detached.

When they entered the apartment, Beth had paused in the entryway staring, transfixed by the profusion of blood that splattered the kitchen. She was mesmerized by the signs of frantic desperation, imaging the ferocious hunger had finally cracked Mick's equilibrium and driven him out into the streets to hunt and kill. Here was the evidence that spoke to state of mind, to motive, to frenzied frustration.

Miranda stood silently for a moment as well, assessing the scene, and Beth could almost see her parsing this new information, placing it neatly into the evening's timeline. Then Miranda brushed against her as she slipped by, taking control of the situation once more. With a small shrug of her shoulders, the taller woman relieved herself of her black leather jacket, which she tossed over to the couch with a careless flick of her wrist. She made her way into the kitchen, picking her way around the puddles to open various cabinets and drawers, searching out cleaning solution and rags with determined efficiency.

Beth, meanwhile, floated away. She avoided the office and the gray door, the upstairs freezer and the opulently wide shower. Mick protected his spaces; he worried about people snooping around.

Instead she'd wandered down the hall to the balcony and stationed herself there, as mute and motionless as any part of the architecture. Her eyes were puffy, but dry, and she held her emotions close in check, allowing neither fear nor self recrimination to swell and dominate. Mick was out there somewhere fighting himself, struggling with dual natures that by their very definition were irreconcilable. The fragile balance that he maintained with such unceasing effort needed to be restored. If indeed it could be with the weight of an innocent's passing bearing it down and away.

But she didn't want to think about that.

For the first time in her life, no news was good news, and until she heard different, Mick was alive and he was coming back. There simply were no other alternatives, no divergent paths. There was one route, one linear demarcation, and it led straight back to her and to the friends who loved him.

As she marked the time, conversations they'd had began to replay in her mind. She'd been naïve- willfully so. Mick had attempted to explain to her, over and over, the depth of his existential crisis, the all consuming intensity of his hatred for the greater part of himself. He'd never been less than honest with her about his nature, and he'd always answered her inquiries, no matter how insensitive or cruel, with calm good humor.

Problem was she'd ignored him. Sure he was a vampire and there were drawbacks, but the benefits! He was powerful and strong, immortal, moving in a mysterious world hidden just beyond her view. A world that tantalized and drew her on. Mick was afraid for her, but he didn't stop her from moving closer to him. Couldn't stop her. Because he wanted her companionship as badly as she wanted his. And so he'd become **her** vampire, as he'd been for her entire life. Beautiful and challenging. Tame.

She had been unkind to Mick. In so many ways and on so many occasions. And when she hadn't been cruel, she'd been envious. Beth understood that now. The day after Josh's death, when they'd run into each other at the police station, he'd called her behavior ridiculous, and he'd been right.

Mick walked the finest of lines, treading with light feet in the vampire world while scrambling to hold on to a humanity which receded further and further as the years drew on. He'd admitted to her that he no longer remembered the taste of his favorite foods. That the emotional responses and choices of mortals sometimes perplexed him. And that the city he once knew so intimately was disappearing slowly as the old guard gave way to progress.

How did you make new memories when the entire world passed by, always just out of reach? When your very nature isolated you from all but your own kind? Rather than letting go, he tried harder to maintain. Josef simply shook his head at Mick's eccentricities, while his human friends…well, she didn't know of any, save for herself and an old blind man who had no idea of the truth, but still owned a notion that something wasn't right.

She'd heard Mick discussing vampirism on the phone, explaining to a two hundred year old teenager that this undead life wasn't a dream and you didn't wake up, that you dealt with it, made your choices and did the best you could. Mick navigated through his days that way, conquering one situation at a time, a partially reformed addict making due.

But night after night the overwhelming need for blood and the struggle to collect it, one way or another, took its toll. 'Scrounging.' That's how he had described it. Beth knew he got most of his blood from the morgue, she'd seen him there. But she also understood- tonight more than ever- that he hungered. When the police had found the body of the drug lord who'd ordered Josh's death, the throat had been savaged. Bitten and ripped out. The police had assumed all the death and destruction in the place had been caused by some rival gang, and they postulated that there might have been an attack dog on the scene. Beth knew better. At the time, she'd thought that Mick was doing what he always did, setting things right. Exacting a vigilante's justice. Now she realized that he sought out opportunities to do so. Acceptable ways of stretching his own personal set of rules, and letting the rage, the hunger, the violence break free, exercising them in the name of righteousness.

Mick had raised masking to an art form. For all that he wanted to maintain the form and substance of humanity, he had also integrated the attributes of his other self to the fullest. How else could he have fought Lola and prevailed? Or faced Lance and survived? Mick had told her that as vampires aged their abilities increased, and that, at eighty five, he was still relatively wet behind the ears. Yet he put himself in situations where he came into conflict with other vampires, regardless of their seniority. Beth had certainly seen him use his power in the mortal realm as well, whether in their cases or just in the day to day.

And yet, he remained always and ever so humanly _touchable_.

Beth was a reporter. She'd been trained to see through smoke and mirrors, to follow the facts down all their winding and uncomfortable turns until she exposed the truth. The fact that she hasn't see through to Mick's core issues was most assuredly her failing…but still, he carried some of the blame. Mick's dual natures pricked and prodded at him, demanding radically different responses to even the simplest of situations. And so he'd become a chameleon, shifting his colors to the moment at hand, fully aware that continued survival often depended on showing the right face at the right moment. He'd become so good at balancing, made it look so effortless, that it was easy to overlook the cost of it.

Mick had never **asked** to be turned. He'd been murdered, brutally slain and raised again to the arms of his loving murderess. If he'd been killed in the good old fashioned way, the newspaper headlines would have been screaming all over the country, wringing out the stuff of tabloid and gossip: "Newlywed Hollywood Socialite Murders Musician Husband On Wedding Night." The papers would have focused on his lost dreams, on the life that should have been, the betrayal of it all by the one woman to whom he'd pledged himself, forever.

Only, it hadn't happened that way. Instead of going into that good night, he'd risen. He'd woken up on his murder bed, violated, kidnapped and sucked into some alternate reality, a nightmare with no end, where life required death, over and over and over again, nightly. Nothing he'd known remained to him, and everything and everyone were stripped away. But before he'd even fully come to grips with the loss, first there was the blood, always and forever the thirst, gnawing at him, urging him on to do the unthinkable and making it natural, instinctual.

His mortality had been stolen, and so he held on to his humanity, the last shred of his old self. The only part of him that Coraline hadn't stolen away.

After Josh was killed, she'd asked Mick why he bothered to keep on living if he hated being a vampire so much. Mick had fallen a step back, physically rocked, the air rushing out of his lungs in a whoosh. He'd paused a moment, processing, and a fey unbelieving smile had sprung to his lips. Here was the question he'd asked himself for decades, over and over, stabbed accusingly at him from the lips of another. Mocking his private dilemma, his devil's bargain with himself.

He hadn't had a ready answer, and as the seconds passed, she's seen that he was at a loss. Then he'd recovered. He was making up for past misdeeds, he'd said. Horrible things that he regretted and hoped somehow to amend. She hadn't believed him, not really. This was Mick St. John, the champion of the innocent, the punisher of ill deeds, the protector of her life and happiness. She thought he'd been prevaricating, guiding her away from the real question she wanted answered. Why hadn't he given Josh the same gift of life that he himself enjoyed?

She bit back a gasping cry and tears escaped from her control, splashing down on the fingers she'd clasped so carefully on the balcony rail. The enormity of Josh's loss rose up, mingling with her present fears. _Not again. I can't go through this again._ All of sudden she was lightheaded, panicky, and Beth began to take long deep breaths, focusing on them until her adrenaline levels lessened and her anxiety became manageable once more.

Mick questioned his continued survival at every turn and measured the worth of his life by his deeds, by the people he positively affected, and by the impulses he resisted. And yet he still couldn't be sure if his life had enough value to balance out the karmic scales when weighed against the damage he'd already caused and was still causing, albeit in a restrained and careful manner. Lastly, and most chillingly, there was danger he posed in the future if he ever lost his sense of humanity or his ascetically brutal self control. Which sooner or later, being what he was, was certain to happen, as it had tonight. And all the good works, all the services he offered up to the cosmic powers that be might not be enough to meet the spiritual rate of exchange for being a vampire.

Beth suddenly heard the front door open and slam, and she held her breath, listening for his voice, for the warm solicitous tones that would tell her that his friends were caring for him. Seconds stretched into a minute, and she realized that she was hearing an urgent conversation, the voices muted and distressed.

_Ah._

She closed her eyes, trying to fight the panic that threatened to overpower her. She bore down on it, refusing to let it engulf her. _Mick is alive. He's just not here. And we have to find him._

A door opened quietly, and Josef joined her on the balcony, coming to rest against the rail beside her. She glanced at him sidelong. He looked…like Josef never looked. Disheveled. His dress shirt was stained and muddy and long grass marks discolored the fabric of his khakis.

Her eyes caught his, and he met them with a small shake of his head. "He got away. I had him at one point, but he pulled free."

"Did he say anything?"

"No." Joseph ran a hand briskly through his hair. Movement and wind had whipped it up and thick little spikes were sticking out from his scalp. "He had a bitch of an escape route all planned out. Over rooftops, through alleyways, across intersections. Though _buildings_ for God's sake. It was insane. "

"So, what do we do now?"

"I don't know." Josef's lips curled up in frustration and his head wobbled slightly as he shook it again, underscoring his uncertainty. "We wait. He's certainly proven that he wants to be left alone."

"But that's not what he needs."

"No. But…I don't know what else to do, Beth. He could be anywhere." Josef's memory flashed back in time, to another despondent friend and a footrace through the moonlit streets of Paris that had ended at a potter's furnace.

Josef was a hedonist, and as such required the presence of others. Thousands of vampire men and women had moved into and out of his purview, and of them only a fraction were still walking the earth. Every death he witnessed or failed to prevent or simply heard about on the grapevine diminished him, making the span of his life at once more ludicrous, more tenuous and more precious.

Tonight another friend was making his decision. Choosing life or choosing death. Josef had no illusions that he was mistaken. He'd waited at the crossroads too many times to miss the signs. He stood a moment longer, a strong sentinel, and then laid his forehead on the rail.

Beth could feel him fighting back his grief. Now, at last, the fear rose up in her, leeching the warmth from her fingers and toes and sending her pressure high enough that the blood roared in her ears. "You don't think he's coming back."

Josef's body became utterly motionless, then his head moved infinitesimally, a tiny back and forth, a negation. He stood abruptly with a loud shuddering breath and closed his fists over the rail, his knuckles whitening, exerting his great strength until concrete burst and small gray chips fell to the balcony floor. When he looked at her, Josef seemed weary, unimaginably so, and moisture pooled at the corners of reddened eyes. "I don't know. I've lived so much longer than the average vampire. Most of us aren't killed. We simply lose the will to live." He tapped the edge of his hand against the rail, hard enough to hurt. "Vampires don't live forever, no matter what mortals believe."

Beth felt her eyes close slowly, her heart sinking to her stomach, leaving her hollowed out, empty. She could neither cry nor speak nor move. Her physical body seemed to be melting away, leaving only the spirit to strain, to push itself outward, seeking to absorb and express the enormity of her anguish.

Everything else disintegrated, the lights, the sounds, the breeze, the world, and Beth simply was.

She could hear him continue, vaguely in the distance. "We all think about it to one degree or another. Ending it. Laying it down once and for all. Vampires are already halfway into the grave. None of us know what's on the other side, though, and if there is a God…well, chances are he's standing there with a baseball bat or a lightning bolt." He inhaled through his nose, then cleared his throat, and Beth could hear the wetness of it. "Mick was Catholic, you know. An altar boy and everything. He never had a doubt that if he somehow didn't make things up, he'd be swimming in a lake of fire at the end." Josef looked at her. "I'm not so sure he's wrong."

Suddenly Beth was shaking, her whole body trembling in long convulsive motions, and she jammed her fist into her mouth, holding back a silent scream. Josef was letting go. This was really happening.

Then he was immediately before her, though she could barely see him through whiteout of her tears. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders, clutching her hard and sharing the pain. They stood like that for a long time, getting it all out- the fear, the worry, the guilt, the loss.

In the midst of it, he started talking. "Forgive me. I'm old and I'm cynical and I shouldn't have said that. And I'm sorry for being such an ass earlier. For scaring you. If I hadn't…" He stopped, but she understood. _If I hadn't, maybe you wouldn't have been so frightened of Mick. _

Beth shook her head where it rested on his shoulder. "No." Her reaction to Mick's appearance had been visceral, immediate. She pulled back, wiping the tears from her cheeks and eyes with the heels of her hands. "He looked dehydrated. Dead. Like it was Mick, but it wasn't him. Not totally. I looked at him and I saw the rogue. The doctor who killed his wife in the living room."

Josef nodded, clearing his own eyes and blinking against the sting. His cheeks were blotched with irregular flushed patterns, and his nose was red. Beth thought he looked very young. "That's what I was trying to make you understand. When vampires get that hungry, the normal rules don't apply."

"And I don't take orders very well."

One side of his mouth curled up ruefully. "No." He closed his eyes and angled his face to the wind, letting it furrow his hair and dry his cheeks. "I don't have many friends, Beth. Never have. And I can't afford to lose one. We need to do better by him. God knows, he's always gone above and beyond for us."

Beth agreed, and for once, she and Joseph stood together, not as predator or prey, not as Mick's potential girlfriend and his best friend, but as partners, two people who dearly loved the same someone, and so might trust that they had more in common.

Beth put aside her grieving. She knew what it felt like. And if this didn't work, she'd know exactly how to pick up where she'd left off. Mick didn't need her weakness, he needed her strength. And if he had lost his equilibrium, his will, she would give him hers. "Alright. So what do we do now?"

* * *

Please, please take the time to read and respond! Feedback is everything! I truly contemplated setting down this story for good while writing this chapter. (I'm not, btw. I don't give up so easily. But I really want to hear what you thought!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Risk Management**

"So if I were Mick, where would I be?" As soon as Beth asked the question, the last of her grief fell away and she felt empowered. On the hunt and on familiar ground. The adrenaline in her blood still sang to her, but now it was calling for a fight, clearing her mental pathways of unwanted distractions and focusing her awareness. Emotionalism was a thief. It promised release, but had simply robbedher of action, paralyzingher and wasting precious time. Beth remembered Miranda's expression as she'd gotten out of her car- that deep sadness for Mick comingled with a profound disgust. Beth supposed that she'd deserved it.

Even worse? She might lose Mick tonight, when she'd barely begun to understand him. What was the worth of butterfly kisses and tentative finger touches to a soul as damaged as his? She'd thought she'd known, once. But she'd only beenhalf serious,languishing in a secretive and exciting new attraction, enjoying the slow burn. When she'd kissed Mick in the parking lot and on this very balcony, she'd done so impulsively, fully aware that she wasn't free and he wouldn't push.

Now she was coming to recognize that the deep connection which had pulled so sweetly at her was laced with fear, self hatred, desperate loneliness and a dozen other darker emotions for Mick. Yet he'd persisted in reaching out to her- the first time he'd looked outside of himself in too many long years. And now, after tonight's terrible realizations, she might finally be able to meet him where he lived.

If they could find him.

She'd asked Josef a question to which she was sure neither of them had an answer. Not yet. But she was a reporter, and as good at hunting down clues as the P.I. for whom they were searching. After all, that's how fate had brought them together over and over again, searching for leads on completely separate cases. Beth watched as Josef drew in a breath to answer…and then released it without speaking as the sound of the balcony door sliding open captured both of their attentions, bringing their fledgling conversation to a temporary halt.

Beth looked on with no little amount of envy as Miranda joined them, crossing the tile floor with a preternatural smoothness. The woman didn't walk, she glided. In six inch stiletto boots no less. Beth couldn't help but wonder if the sleek pony tail which hung nearly to her waist was real or a weave. In L.A., half of everything you saw in a day was fake. Still…in her secret fantasies, she looked like this woman. Hell, like any of these vampire women. They were all classically beautiful, irresistibly svelte and intensely powerful. Beth vividly remembered Lola's predatory sang froid, that sexy superiority that mocked her for merely being human. They all had it. Especially Coraline.

Beth found that the corners of her lips had turned down, and she was sure there was a deep line furrowed across her forehead. She was out of her league, and she knew it._ Mick's surrounded by women who act like they could kick his ass to the ground, then blow his mind…and he's got feelings for __**me? **_Beth wondered how this new vampiress knew Mick, and how she had come to drive him home.

Miranda eased her way between Beth and Josef, forcing both of them to take a half step to the side to allow room for her. She surveyed the L.A. nightscape spread out before her, marking a few familiar buildings from this new vantage. Then in one quick motion, she turned away, leaning her back against the rail. She rolled her shoulders a bit, trying the concrete out for comfort- clearly she'd found the gouge made by Josef- then crossed her arms and regarded them with no little amount of disdain, making it obvious that her vampire's hearing had picked up some, if not most of the conversation. Her eyes raked Josef over as if to say, "I expected more of you." Josef's face, already blotched with red, flushed more evenly and he turned away to the rail, caught out.

In fifty years, she'd never seen him so emotionally unsteady. She'd witnessed anger, passion, conniving greed. But sorrow? Real sorrow? Never. He kept such emotions close to himself. She suspected he hid them away, took them out from time to time for examination, and then replaced them again with the click of a mental lock. Not that she blamed him; she did the same thing. Old vamps understood that forward motion was impossible if you were mired down in the past. There was a reason the rearview mirror of a car was so much smaller than the front window. You were meant to check what was behind you, not live in it. Mick would have to come to terms with this concept if he wanted to survive.

Mick's freshie, meanwhile, had raised her head and was regarding Miranda with a fierce readiness that met and matched her challenge. Clearly, the premature mourning was finished. _Finally._

Beth started in first, rephrasing her original question to bring Miranda into the conversation. "We need to pool our information and figure out where Mick might be."

"Play detective to find the detective." Josef's voice blew back to them on the wind. It appeared as if he were looking out over the city.

"Absolutely. And you were the last one to see him." Beth had taken on an aggressive, no nonsense tone, seeking to prod Josef into a more active participation. "Which way was he headed? What happened when you chased him?"

Josef pivoted on one heel, turning to face them, his elbow gently pushing against Miranda's. "Mick had an escape route all planned out. We ran north, then he doubled back and headed south. I lost him in Rosedale Cemetery." His mouth formed into a humorless smile, and he graced them both with a pointed look. _A fitting enough place, no?_ he seemed to be saying. "I'm certain he meant to end up there, and equally positive that he kept on going."

"And he didn't say **anything**?"

"Unless you count grunts and panting as speech, then no. Nothing." Josef's words were strong enough, but Miranda saw his eyes track to the balcony door, unconsciously seeking an escape from the question. Miranda didn't believe him for a second, and from the expression on her face, neither did Beth. The blonde had taken on the pushy reporter's stance. Then the Cleaner saw her hesitate and, for some unknown reason, back down. Perhaps she only wanted to unearth good news. Obviously the conversation had been traumatic, and maybe Josef believed it to be final. Miranda wasn't so sure. "Josef, enough." She nudged his arm, hard. "Something's going to break soon. We'll have a window of opportunity."

"Maybe." _Or maybe we already had our chances and blew them both._

"Probably." Miranda said firmly, and chose her next words carefully, mindful of the fragile state of these two, the ones who loved Mick so well. Unfortunately, there was no positive way to spin the inevitable chain of events. "He's hungry. Moving in and out of control. Sooner or later, no matter how good his intentions, he won't be able to restrain himself."

"He'll..." Beth swallowed, discomfited. She couldn't quite bring herself to say the word 'kill', and so chose another. "…feed again."

"Yes. And then we might have him. He stayed with the first body and called for a cleanup. That's how I found him."

Beth's mind flew to the worst scenario, conjuring ghastly images, a conflation of blood and gore drawn from all the crime scenes she'd ever covered. And still, she was sure that she couldn't capture the half of it. Because this time, the murderer in the shadows was Mick.

Miranda saw her response and shrugged eloquently. If Beth was toying with a union in the vampire world, she needed to understand certain realities. "Vampire survival instincts are strong. When you're as depleted as he is, the mind switches off and the thirst takes over." She caught Josef's eye. "You should have seen him on the ride here. One moment he was Mick; the next he was all appetite. He targeted a girl sitting in the back of a passing car and nearly went through both windows at eighty miles an hour to get at her."

The corners of Josef's lips twitched back as he processed the implications of his best friend's hunger gone wild.

He glanced over to Beth, who froze, her heart plummeting into her stomach. She wrapped her hands around the rail, squeezing hard as she was forced to acknowledge, once again, the extent of her betrayal. If she hadn't pushed him away, Mick would have been here, sipping from a silver flask with Josef calmly supporting him. _Someone might die tonight for my mistake. _A part of her recognized that the two vampires with her harbored no feelings of regret for the human whose life Mick had ended tonight. To them, it was simply the way of things. Mick's moral misgivings were the source of the problem, not the fact that he had given in to his nature.

Miranda's voice cut through their thoughts. "Stop it. You're taking this the wrong way."

It was Josef who responded, his voice low and intense. "And how should I take it, Miranda?"

"Mick's running on instinct, and instinct is all about living, not dying." She leaned over and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing firmly. "Our job is to be there for him when the thirst subsides and he starts thinking again."

She was right, and he knew it. Josef drew in a deep breath, exhaled it slowly. He'd lost more friends than he could count, vampire and human. Empires had risen and passed away while he watched, and hehad learned long ago that the amount of control he could exert over life and its circumstances was limited. A recognition of helplessness that he hated.

So he insulated himself as best he could with wealth, amassing all the trappings of power until he called the shots. Until he was the one from whom others sought favors and friendship, like the king of a nighttime court all his own. The image always amused him. You could take the courtier out of the feudal system, but never the feudal system out of the courtier. Ah well, whatever worked, right? All those lords of history pasthad understood something vital as they stood atop their own shifting dung heaps: that in the end, the powerful do not control life, they ride it, strapped across Fortune's Wheel like any other individual. One could only hope to influence events and people, not control them. Josef exerted his own personal charisma on a daily basis, guiding those who slipped alongside and drafted off his wake.

Mick had started out as such a client, dependent on Josef and Coraline for their knowledge and emotional support as well as for the nutritive and financial sustenance they provided. Then, as he'd matured, he'd changed, forging his own path alongside Josef's. And so they had walked together for a while, on separate but parallel tracks, and that made Mick's companionship all the more precious. There were so few people who had the strength to define their own set of priorities and then live them. Josef had been around long enough to appreciate Mick's fortitude.

"So what now?" Beth asked.

Josef's answer was decisive. "We pool our information like you suggested. All of it." He gestured toward the balcony door, inviting them to walk in front first. "Let's sit down inside and discuss our next move." Josef wasn't certain that any of their planning would amount to much, but it was worth a try.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, each of them had elaborated on their recent experiences with Mick, and while they certainly had a clearer picture, they were no closer to a course of action. Josef had been surprised- pleasantly so- to discover that Mick had downed a bag of Colin's best vintage. Surely someone was smiling on them tonight. Blood that carried a high emotional content fulfilled in ways that even a hunt couldn't. Which is clearly why Mick had calmed enough to carry on a conversation with Miranda, and on his favorite topic, no less: human/vampire relations.

The fact that Mick had composed himself to any degree was enough to give Josef a thimbleful of hope…and a very dangerous idea. Josef liked to hedge his bets, to play the odds carefully, minimizing risks and probing several possible approaches before committing. If he nudged things in this direction, he'd be all in with one move, and the responsibility for the final outcome would be his.He wasn't sure he could live with that. However, he wasn't sure there were any alternatives. He glanced to the left, to where Beth sat beside him on the couch. The idea of Colin's blood had clearly intrigued her, and he rather thought she might be flashing back to a certain hotel room in the desert.

More telling still was the fact that Mick had asked for the wallet of his victim. Josef wasn't under any illusions of what his friend had meant to do with it. He would have tortured himself, picked himself to pieces with a thousand little regrets and might have beens as he unearthed the details of the dead man's life. And undoubtedly, as he had with Beth, Mick would have assumed a responsibility for the family, a watchful readiness to intervene, to protect and nurture with finances or assistance.

All of which required that Mick continue among the living.

Beth had caught on immediately, nearly glowing as she'd latched onto the first positive news of the evening. Goodness knew she'd already been the lifelong beneficiary of Mick's care. "He's got a duty to the family. Mick's too honorable to leave them without support."

Josef hadn't disagreed on Mick's original intent, but after the incident in the parking garage, he wasn't so sanguine. "Don't count on it. Not entirely. If he…goes…he'd expect me to handle it." He'd exhaled, coming to a stop, crossing his arms against his chest. "Which I will, of course." He had glanced at Miranda, all business. "In fact, no matter what he says, don't ever let him have that wallet."

She stared back at him, mildly affronted that he'd expected her to make such an obvious mistep. "I'd never intended to."

"Fine." _The last thing we need is for Mick to obsess over __**another**__ human, let alone a group of them._ "I'll send someone by your office tomorrow to pick it up."

"Agreed. Though he's not going to thank you for this. I would have taken the heat."

Josef had smiled grimly, a thin worn smile that reinforced the difficulty they faced. "Then by all means, do. Please. If we find him, I'll have my hands full. Give it to my people, and then tell him he can't have it." Josef's expression became pointedly wicked. "Though I'd suggest you do it over the phone. And then go on vacation for a while."

The Cleaner had snorted scornfully, letting Josef know exactly what she thought of his warning.

Still, Mick's request for the wallet had spoken to his intent, and suddenly Josef's thimbleful of hope was all but running over. If they found Mick, he could be reminded of his responsibility. Josef always liked leverage, and guilt was a powerful motivator.

When it had been Beth's turn to speak, and she'd outlined Mick's use of the compound and its effects, Miranda hadn't been surprised in the slightest. Not that Josef had expected her to be. Many of the vampires who had lived through the era of the Revolution had heard rumors of its existence. Josef had already been in America at the time, curious about the workings of the experiment called democracy, eager to experience a society ruled by, of and for the people. He'd never expected it to last, and certainly never intended to make the New World his home, but the unexplored, unconquered vastness of it all had lured him away from the endlessly tiresome pursuits of the courtier and called him to find his own purpose.

As for Miranda, she'd stayed in Europe and found herself on the outskirts of a second, far less benign Revolution. She'd been a small landowner in thetown of Arles, in Provence. The intensity of peasant anger had sparked riots in the countryside, and she'd found herself run off her estate just ahead of that a torch bearing mob. She'd sought asylum at a local monastery- one that specialized in the development and sale of botanicals. The connection didn't surprise Josef. Monasteries had made a vast business out of creating herbal cures and potions. The religious communities of Provence still made everything from soap to Chartreuse. In any event, a vampire monk (_now there was a contradiction in terms)_ from the Ardennes had had a small supply and given her one dose, enough to pass the checkpoints between Arles and Marseilles, where she'd sailed for Spain and relative safety.

"So it's not just a masker?" Josef asked, stretching one arm along the back of the couch.

"I came to think of it as a suppressor, though I don't know how it worked. He sliced my arm near the wrist, smeared on the herbs, and a few minutes later I could pass for human." The Cleaner's expression reflected her distaste as long forgotten memories surfaced. "It was unnerving." She paused. "The transition back was a bitch; I drank like a newborn vamp for the first three days." Actually, she'd created such a mess the first night, she'd had to leave her lodging and flee through a smuggler's hole in the city walls. Right before dawn, she'd found herself in a crofter's barn, eyeing the cows in desperation. She'd taken the first farmhand to walk through the door…and the second as well and then run through the woods like the devil was chasing her.

"What about the compound? Was it widely available?"

She shook her head. "No. As the Revolution wore on, its existence became more commonly known, but no one outside of France ever seemed to be able to acquire any. And even inside the borders it was rumored to be extremely rare. Near the end, the vamp refugees who made it through the checkpoints as humans all seemed to be closely connected to the royal family in some way. It was assumed that they must have been the source of the compound. Of course, Louis XVI was executed, as were most of the higher functionaries of the court. After they were killed, the supply seemed to disappear."

"And nothing about Mick tonight led you to believe that he was recovering from the compound?"

"If I'd thought about it, I might have questioned him. But no. There were no obvious scents or signs."

Josef filed the information away. After this crisis had passed, rooting out information regarding the compound would become his top priority. Apparently Lance had been less than honest with him when he'd asked for Josef's assistance in locating Coraline in L.A. He tapped his fingers on the back of the couch, an urgent rhythm. He so hated being screwed. "Alright. So where do we think Mick is? I've got my people watching, but I doubt he'll show up at any of my properties." _Not after leading me on such a merry chase._

"It depends." Miranda answered. "If he's gone entirely rogue, he'll pick out whomever's closest when he snaps, drag them into a corner and drain them dry. Like he did earlier at the storage facility. If he's more aware of himself, he might go to a popular night spot, looking for a crime in progress or a drug dealer. I've got my teams in downtown Hollywood and a few of the noisier places."

"Wait a minute." They turned back to Beth, who had suddenly sat avidly upright, straining forward from her end of the couch toward Miranda's chair. "What storage facility?"

"The one I found Mick at. A few blocks down from the Chinese Theater in Hollywood."

Beth's expression turned triumphant. "That's where he kept Coraline's lab. He boxed up the notes, the chemicals, the equipment- everything- and stored it downtown. It's got to be the same place." She placed her hand on Josef's knee, gripping tightly. "He went there tonight looking for the cure!"

Josef wasn't so sure that Mick had been actively searching for anything other than a meal. Beth didn't understand the primal nature of vampire thirst. Still, on some basic level, Mick might well have unconsciously brought himself to the one place where he believed he might find help. Perhaps by mixing some of the herbs together, he might have lessened the aftereffects enough to regain control. "Miranda, did you see any broken locks or bent doors?"

"No. Everything seemed secure. Mick didn't seem to care about the place."

Beth interrupted. "Of course not. From what you described, he wasn't thinking straight. Besides, once he'd killed...the deed was done, right? But he's still hungry and Coraline told him she'd hidden more of the compound. What if Mick's looking for it?"

Suddenly everything fell into place, and they found themselves staring across the table at each other, a thread of energy sparking between them. They might be wrong. But at least they'd be doing something.

Josef spoke first. "So we look in places where Mick and Coraline had a common history." He stood, looking to Miranda. "You should go back downtown. You've scented the compound before. Do you think you can recognize it if you smelled it again?"

"After two hundred years?!" She rolled her eyes, holding out her hands helplessly. From the looks she got back, that wasn't what they wanted to hear. She sighed. "Maybe."

"Do what you can. Find everything that's closest to the smell you remember, get it ready for transport and then call me."

"What about us?" Beth asked.

"I'm going to visit some of Mick and Coraline's old haunts. The hotel they went to on their wedding night, their favorite restaurant. Places only I'd know."

"Fine. I'll take their house."

Josef paused, caught in the crux of his gambit. Now came the choice, and it all came down to faith. Did he believe that Mick was searching for the cure? Possibly. If he was thinking at all through the hunger. Did he believe that Coraline really had hidden some part of it for Mick to find? Not on your life. Bait and switch, that's what Coraline did. Chances were she'd meant to hold out a false hope for Mick, one that would frustrate him until he eventually chased her back to France, right into the heart of her family's holdings.

The problem with all cons, however, is that there might be an element of truth. That small grain of hope that necessitated the wild goose chase he was proposing.

No, the real cure was standing in front of him with eager blue eyes and clouds of blonde hair. Her blood, filled with the taste of her love forMick was the real solution. Probably the only one that mattered. He glanced over at Miranda. She saw it too. _Of course she does_. She'd been in love with a human for forty years.

The question was deceptively simple: Did he have faith that Mick wouldn't kill her?

Twenty four hours ago- hell, two hours ago- he honestly wouldn't have cared. Not so much. Mick's outcome would have been of more importance than hers. In the previous two hours, however, he'd tested her mettle, and discovered that she loved Mick as much as he did, and for entirely different purposes. (Here he rather expected that he was lying to himself. He'd known for a while, but it was hard to lose a friend to a rival. Being the third wheel always sucked.)

As to the question of faith, he found that he didn't have an answer. And in Mick's absence, it fell to Josef to defend those things he held dear.

"No. You should go home." Josef's tone brooked no defiance. To punctuate his point, he walked away from her, grabbing his coat and swinging into it. Let her remember the cost of her earlier bickering.

Beth did, and for a moment she stood there silently, her mouth opening and closing as possible objections died in the face of her previous actions. If she had but listened to Josef, Mick would be here, ensconced safely in his apartment with Josef at his side. Exactly the situation they were trying to achieve. However, the circumstances were significantly less favorable now, and Beth was considerably more responsible. Her voice was hesitant in its protest. "I can't do that."

Josef's hands paused on the buttons of his duster, and he adopted his most sarcastic, most imposing manner. "Mick isn't in control of himself. What part of 'He'll kill you' don't you understand?"

Beth didn't have a good answer. She stretched open palmed hands towards him in entreaty even as her eyes tracked to the floor and her torso pulled away from him. "I trust him. You tell me I shouldn't, but I trust him." She looked up, straight into hiseyes. "You didn't see him downstairs. He wasn't himself, but part of him was aware. I crushed something in him, and I'm the only one who can make it right."

And so they were back to faith again.

Josef rubbed his hands through his hair. The tension in the room was palpable, and he felt stretched. "If he kills you…hurts you…he won't survive it."

And then she said it. The fear which had been plaguing him all night long. "No. But you don't think he will regardless."

Josef's tick was back again, and he moved his head in a tinyinconclusive motion. _He might already be dead._

_So what have we got to lose?_ Her look seemed to say to him.

_Too much, _his responded.

He cleared his throat. "Fine. You go to the house, and wait for me in your car. Preferably about a mile down the road." He glared at her intently, his gaze powerful and intimidating. "Do you understand? Don't go anywhere near it." She nodded mutely. "Promise me." Beth nodded again. "No, say it."

"I promise." She found her own thoughts and formed a question. "Where will you be?"

"I'm going to the hotel where Mick was first turned. To be honest, I think it's a better bet. Lance searched their house. My men searched their house. Hell, even you were there." Coraline was too smart to go for the obvious. She'd choose somewhere more private. More pertinent to herself and to Mick. And there could scarcely be a more significant place than their honeymoon suite.

Beth thought the chances were good that Josef was right. "Fine. I'll wait for you."

Josef nodded. "I'll be in touch." He pulled open the front door, calling back to them as he stepped out. "Exchange cell numbers with Miranda before you leave."

Miranda hoped he caught the witheringglare she sent his way before the door closed. _Since when am I your secretary, stock boy?_ She snorted as he escaped, unscathed and undoubtedly amused. She glanced over to Beth, who was pulling on her coat. "Quite the bastard, isn't he?"

Beth smirked, letting go of the tension which the last exchange with Josef had engendered. "Mhhm. Way too overbearing." In truth, she didn't at all care for the way in which he used his physical presence to intimidate her. Or her instinctively submissive reaction.

"Give it time. He'll grow on you. He's Mick's best friend, right?" Miranda cinched her leather belt around her waist, pulled up the collar of her jacket, and motioned to Beth to lead the way. "Come down to my car. I have something that you should keep near you tonight."

The door closed behind them, and a few seconds later, a sensor clicked out and the lights in Mick's apartment dimmed automatically.

* * *

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